


Nidaime Haruno

by thinknicht



Category: Naruto
Genre: AU, Danzo is his fanboy, F/M, Gen, Reincarnation, Tobirama is actually Sakura, Tobirama is around to change shit, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinknicht/pseuds/thinknicht
Summary: Tobirama gets reincarnated. He’s not fond of the pink hair.
Comments: 72
Kudos: 286





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I used to think that the second was the most boring of the Hokage. He just didn't stand out compared to the others. But after I learned of the huge impact that he actually made and just how much of a genius he is, I really started to get interested in his character. And so, this idea was born as a sort of character study. I wondered, "what if Tobirama had had another go at life?" I contemplated reincarnating him as an Uchiha just for the irony, but somehow a pink-haired little civilian girl seemed even funnier, taking his intimidating persona into account. And so… so here we are.

Sakura’s first memory was traumatic and most decidedly weird. It had been a sunny summer day, she’d been maybe three, and her father had taken her fishing for the first time. They’d sat down upon a grassy riverbench, feet dangling above the flowing water. Something about the river had spoken to her, had been calming and peaceful, almost like coming home. Sakura had enjoyed being there very much. Then her father had shown her how to fish. She had listened to him talk in contentment as she went about sampling and cataloguing the different fish that her father was pulling out of the shimmering water.

Then it happened. She’d peered at the water, entranced by its beautiful color and there, upon the water surface, there was a face! It was chubby and heart-shapped, a girl. The girl’s mouth was parted and her eyes wide in horror. Sakura had lurched back, horrified, and started crying. Why was there some girl there? That wasn’t her!

Her father hadn’t understood the cause of her dismay. He had patted her back consolingly and they’d left back home, but Sakura could tell that he was unsettled by the incident. She’d felt shame and fear, but most of all unsettled by the memory of that face that was so foreign… how could it belong to her?

Later, back in the safe confines of her own home, she’d waited until her mother had kissed her good night, and then she’d silently tip-toed to the bathroom. She’d clambered on top of the toilet seat and peered at her reflection again. Just like before, she was greeted by the face of the same girl from earlier, set in a deep scowl this time that looked more like a puppy pouting than the intimidating expression she was accustumed to (wait, what?). Her hair was pink (pink!) and her eyes a verdant green. That was an improvement, at least. The thought had arisen unbiden, but it made Sakura pause. An improvement? Compared to what? She didn’t understand her own reaction entirely. The only thing she understood was that she was not supposed to look like this – and it unsettled her.

She knew her parents whispered about her at night, that they worried about her. They thought something was odd with her in the head. Sakura remembered the one time she’d told her mother one of her stories. Her mother had been horrified and started crying. She’d asked Sakura where she’d heard such a thing, but Sakura had had no answer. These stories… she just knew them. They just came to her like they’d already been there to begin with. They were stories of another time, a time where people wore different clothes and bathed in rivers, a time of fighting and training and more fighting, of sending children to war against the red-eyed enemies. A time of skipping rocks in the river and challenging his brothers to water-walking contests, and getting whipped on the back by father when he failed to perform his duties. A time of being a warrior, of being nimble and running for days on end and without sleep, never faltering, of watching most of his brothers die, murdered in the battlefield, too young to have hit puberty. Sometimes she’d dream about some of these occurrences, though the less pleasant ones were more common. When Sakura was smaller, she used to wake up sobbing, not remembering why, and her parents would console her but then look at each other again, with that look.

“Who is Kawarama, Sakura-chan?” her mother had asked her once, after a particularly violent nightmare.

Kawarama was one of the people in her stories. Sakura had explained to her mom that he was a boy with two-toned hair, that he was really good at rock-skipping, a fast little brat who might one day have become an amazing fighter, even though he’d preferred peace to war.

Her parents had assumed Kawarama was Sakura’s imaginary friend. Sakura had tried to explain to them that he wasn’t, but given up when she realized that that just made the worried glances between them increase. As time passed, she began to know more about that world. She never told her parents about the gruesome details of Kawarama’s death, or the lashing that father had given them all for it. She never told her mother of the retribution he’d sought a few years later, of the satisfaction he’d thought it would give him and the emptiness that he got instead. No, Sakura never mentioned any of that. Instead, she told her parents that her nightmares had stopped, and soon after got her own bed. Her parents were eager for some uninterrupted sleep of their own.

The day she accompanied her mother to the grocery store was perhaps her most vivid memory of that time, it was _the_ memory. She’d been holding onto her mother’s hand, walking through the street, observing the world around her when she’d seen them: two faces, carved in a giant stone wall that overlooked the village. There were four faces in total, but Sakura only had eyes for the two on the very left.

“Sakura-chan? Sakura, why are you crying? Did you hurt yourself?”

Her mother sounded concerned, but Sakura could only stare at the face on the left, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she looked upon the carved countenance of her older brother, her anija. Yes. That was Hashirama’s face, undoubtedly! She was absolutely certain. And the other one… the other face was hers. It should be the face greeting her on the other side of the mirror. That was her!

“Sakura?” her mother questioned urgently. “Where does it hurt, baby?”

Sakura made a concentrated effort to calm herself. When she finally had her emotions in check, she asked her mother for a tissue and wiped her face clean.

“Mother, those faces…” she said, pointing at them. “Why are they there?”

Her mother began to explain that those were the faces of the mighty and revered hokage, and that the two on the very left belonged to the two brothers who had founded the very village they lived in. They were the shodaime hokage and the nidaime hokage respectively, founders of Konoha, legendary for their prowess in combat, gods among men.

As her mother spoke, it had all come back to her.

Every single brain process in Sakura’s mind clicked, and suddenly it all made sense – all those stories she knew, those were her memories. Tobirama’s memories.

She was Tobirama Senju.

Tobirama Senju was her.

She’d instantly recognised the face on the right of her own as well – good old Saru! One of her most promising students – though she had no idea about the last one.

She wondered with sadness whether that meant that Saru was dead. Both she and her anija had given their lives in service of the village, prompting a new hokage to step up.

As mother and daughter resumed their trek to the market, Sakura’s mind (or Tobirama’s, as it were) worked furiously.

She concluded that she must have somehow been reincarnated after her own passing. She was gratified to see that the village which she and her anija had built from the ground up was prospering, though she knew that she’d need to assess its inner workings personally to feel confident in that. Since Hashirama’s passing, Tobirama’s only goal in life had been to see his dream through. Now that he’d been reincarnated, he would continue to do so.

A part of him wondered whether Hashirama had been reincarnated as well. Did his own reincarnation mean that everyone did? Or was he an anomaly? Were there more people who remembered their past lives?

Sakura could recall that she had researched the topic of reincarnation and souls deeply back in her first life in hopes of bringing her late brothers back to life, though it had been to no avail. Perhaps, one of her many experiments had unwittingly resulted into her current predicament, which would mean that her situation was likely unprecedented.

She’d immediately longed for her research notes to look over them, something which was of course not possible, followed by the dawning realization that… she remembered none of it! Her research was _gone_!

She didn’t even remember how to read, let alone any of her jutsu creations. All those years of work…

Though Tobirama had been a man who never faltered, a man with a will of iron, right then, he almost broke down. All of his life’s work… gone.

Sakura had spent the entire next week in a daze, hardly paying attention to anything, trying and failing to remember the particulars of her research. Sure, she remembered some of her ideas, but not their implementation.

A week into her moping, however, she inevitably got over it. It would be an enormous waste of time, but if she’d done it once, she could do it again. Sakura was certain that some of her notes must still be around, and she remembered passing some of her jutsu on to her students. She’d just need to gain their trust first to get to the jutsu… though that would probably be hard. She’d taught her own students to be paranoid, and her own story was as unbelievable as they come. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it – because she would, no matter what.

And so, Sakura began to make plans. The first thing she’d need to do was make sure she became a ninja: she’d worry about everything else once she’d made it that far. The Academy acceptance age was six, so she still had some time to ease her parents into the idea. Of course, she’d need to begin her training before that. Getting an early start was key to developing deep chakra reserves and flexibility, so waiting for the Academy to begin her education was absolutely out of the question. However, Sakura was at a loss on how to proceed. Not just on how to train herself in secret, but also on how to go about convincing her parents to let her go to the Academy (that she herself had created). Both of her parents were civilians and much too protective of her for their own good. For the moment, Sakura had to resign herself to doing flexibility exercises and basic push-ups and sit-ups when she was alone, but she knew that it was far from enough.

What she did do was teach herself to read. Learning the hiragana alfabet was accomplished within a day of asking her mother questions about one of her picture books and reviewing everything later.

From there, she’d shown her parents that she’d picked up reading, and both had been exultant. It was odd, receiving so much praise for something that, in Tobirama’s childhood, had been expected, but Sakura rolled with it. It meant that her parents were quick to buy more books for her, this time some with kanji (and furigana) which had enabled more independent study. As with everything Tobirama had set out to do in his past life, Sakura’s focus on her goal was unfaltering and laser sharp, and so she made quick progress. Pleased with herself, she’d also begun to try summoning her chakra. It was surprisingly hard, especially considering that she had no recollections on how to go about it, nor any on the ‘beginner’ exercises recommended to learn. She only rememberedlearning to walk on water and walls as a young child, so she’d tried that, and of course failed. And failed. And failed again.

It quickly became apparent that the difficulty was too high, so she’d tried to look for alternatives. If one could stick to surfaces, then that meant that surfaces could stick to you, surely that should be easier?

This approach turned out to be the right one, and after two days of struggling, Sakura had managed to stick little pieces of paper to the tip of her index finger. From there, she began working on improving her results, sticking the paper to other parts of her body, then doing the exercise with more than one piece of paper, doing it while she was reading, doing it to larger objects, etc.

Another area of study she’d begun to pursue was sensing. Tobirama had been the best sensor in history during his time, and yes, that had had something to do with his bad eyesight (he’d eventually come up with a jutsu in order to fix it, but he had spent his childhood and half his teenage years with very blurry eyesight), so of course he’d perfected sensing out of necessity and sheer survival instinct. Now that Sakura’s eyesight had no such deficiencies, she hadn’t automatically started developing her sensory skills, but she was still determined to regain every bit of her range either way.

Sensing was perhaps the hardest to learn, for it was a skill that came with no instructions manual: either you could do it, or you couldn’t. Fortunately, she had excelled at it in a past life, and her continued training was starting to pay off. At first, she’d been forced to cling to her mother in order to try sensing her, but as she improved, physical contact stopped being a necessity and her range slowly but surely began to increase.

Her fourth birthday came and went. By the time Sakura was proficient at reading, writing, wall and water-walking, could stick an entire newspaper worth of paper scraps to her body, and could sense the going-ons within the entire house, nearly half a year had passed. Her flexibility was at its peak (she could touch the back of her head with the tips of her toes) and she could do push ups and sit ups for half an hour straight without tiring. At this stage, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she needed to start training in earnest if she wanted to continue improving.

This meant that she would need to go outside, and, though she was tempted to sneak out at night to go about her training unbothered, Sakura knew that that was a foolish idea. First: she was a toddler. Her body would tire without rest. Second: she was defenceless. She may be the second hokage reincarnated, a man who could level brick walls with a finger, but right now, she was a weak little girl.

So she needed to find some other way to get her training done… Sakura’s first idea had been to convince her parents to let her go to the park in order to hang out with other children her age. Running around would surely do her good – she could remember how much of Tobirama’s own stamina as a child had started off thanks to tag games and roughhousing with his brothers. Of course, her parents didn’t have to know that. Both had been delighted that their normally reclusive daughter suddenly wanted to make friends and had obliged her gladly. The problem came when she actually got to the park. Despite having memories of another time, Sakura was still a four-year-old girl. She still threw tauntrums, cried when she had nightmares (and had embarrassingly still wet the bed until a little while ago) and while she still behaved in a more mature manner than was expected, if compared to Tobirama at the same age, there wouldn’t have been much of a difference between the two. By the age of four, Tobirama had been just as driven as Sakura was, and probably further ahead in his training as well, barring perhaps the reading part. In short, Sakura was a child (if a peculiar one), so getting along with the other children shouldn’t have been a problem… except it was. Kids her age were so… ugh. She didn’t remember them being this melodramatic and whiny back in the warring states era!

In any case, the sole reason why she’d wanted to go to the park in the first place was to get a workout in, not make friends. But to her dismay, the girls her age were giggling at each other in the sand box and the boys seemed to think she had cooties and refused to play with a girl. Sakura sighed to herself. Honestly, this entire thing would have been a whole lot easier if she could’ve just gotten reincarnated as a clan kid. She bet that they were a whole lot further ahead than she was already! Enraged, she’d strutted right back to her parents and declared she was leaving, to both of their obvious dismay.

In light of the obvious failure that had been her ‘park excursion’, Sakura was forced to resort to other means of getting training. She begged and begged her mother to let her take some kind of sports class, but her mother, by some kind of motherly sixth-sense immediately realized what she was angling at.

“You will not be going to the ninja Academy, Sakura-chan! Such a life is much too dangerous for you.”

Of course she just had to get stuck with the most _civilian_ civilian of a mother out there. UGH! THIS WAS SO FRUSTRATING! Narrowing her eyes, Sakura crossed her arms and gave her mother her deadliest scowl. It had been an infamous expression of Tobirama’s, one which his enemies across all nations knew to fear. But of course, to her mother it meant nothing, and she stayed firm in her denial. Resigned, Sakura figured that she’d have to pick her battles and focus on getting the sports class for now. One thing at a time and all that. Divide and conquer. And so, after a whole lot of prodding and begging (though she refused to resort to crying), Mebuki finally gave in and signed her up to a dance class. _A dance_ _class_! God help her.

Needless to say, Sakura was not exactly thrilled to get dancing lessons, but she would take what she could get. No matter how unnecessarily femenine and frilly, it would still be a work out.

But while dancing was (somewhat) acceptable, it was far from enough. Ugh, the pains of being female. No, she would need some other alternative to further her training… but what?

Senju Tobirama was known as the most intelligent man of his time and perhaps of the entire history of Konoha. He had created most of its institutions, designed its architectural make-up, its plumbing system, its main organisms and central bodies, its laws, had created guideliness for basically the entire academy curriculum, and was also the inventor of some of the greatest jutsu and fuinjutsu techniques in existence, passed down from generation to generation by the ninja of the village. Long story short, Tobirama – or Sakura – was not about to be beaten by a prohibition by his civilian mother. That would be ludicrous.

The chance Sakura had been looking for came in the form of visiting her aunt’s house. Kosuke, her son and Sakura’s cousin, happened to be a slob. He was nine and hated doing his homework, from what Aunty Kaede had said… something which Sakura intended to take advantage of. She cornered the little miscreant as he stared at his maths homework with a hopeless expression.

“The answer is fifty-three,” she told him.

“Hah?”

Sakura sighed long-sufferingly at him but didn’t elaborate. Three minutes later, when he’d finally managed to add twenty two and thirty one, Kosuke turned to gape at her.

“How’d you know?”

“I just do,” said Sakura blandly.

“Do you know the answer to this one then?” Kosuke pointed at another similarly hare-brained problem. A gleam in her eye, Sakura nodded and calmly told him the answer, and the next, and the next…

Much as she’d expected, Kosuke didn’t inform his mother of his shameless cheating, and also as she’d expected, he swung by the house the next week (also on Thursday), in order to collect Sakura. Naturally, he probably had homework to be delivered by Friday morning and was desperate, though of course didn’t say so out loud.

“Awww, it’s so good that you two are getting along!” Mebuki had exclaimed, ever naive.

Sakura had nodded along obligingly, and the next second Kosuke had dragged her in the direction of his house. Sakura, however, dug her heel in the ground as soon as they were out of sight. She straightened to her full height, which sadly wasn’t much.

“I assume you want me to do your homework again?” she questioned.

“Er…” Flushing, Kosuke nodded dumbly.

“Then you will give me something in return,” she told him bluntly.

“Like what? If you want candy, I don’t have any here…” he fingered his pocket in a manner that spoke to the contrary. Thankfully for him, Sakura wasn’t after his candy. She suppressed a grin. Oh, this was just too easy!

“Simple,” she told him. “I want you to come and pick me up to go ‘play’ every day. I will then go do my own thing and you yours, and we will meet again at nightfall so that you can take me home, and you’ll tell both your parents and mine that we were together the entire time. In exchange, you will give me all your homework at the start of the week and I will return it to you complete by the end of it. Does that sound fair?”

Kotaro blinked dumbly again. Then he seemed to mull Sakura’s words over and a winning smile spread over his face. “That sounds awesome! When do we start?”

Studying up on the material expected to be known by a nine-year old did take the four-year-old Sakura some time, but with some consultation to Kosuke’s school books, she quickly got the hang of most subjects. It would’ve been suspicious if his school performance improved too drastically anyway, so she didn’t even feel pressured to get every single answer right. And the best part was, though the arrangement had required a major time investment on her part in the beginning, as soon as Sakura was caught up with the material, she could use the time between Kosuke picking her up and bringing her home to actually train. Finally! The training grounds were off limits for non-genin, so Sakura was stuck to running laps around the village for now.

Endurance was one of the most essential skills to any ninja, one which Tobirama had excelled at in his time and planned to excel at again. During her training, Sakura avoided the parts of town that her parents and their acquaintances usually frequented, and switched up her routes often in order to explore the village. Soon enough, she’d stumbled upon the Academy (ah, the nostalgia) and that was yet another big step in the right direction. Students were allowed to stay behind in the afternoon in order to train, and so, with a little help of tree-walking and concealing her chakra, she got to freely spy on them and copy their techniques. First, she went about re-familiarizing herself with the basic hand-signs, then practicing them in front of a mirror, and once her eyes were trained enough, she was able to follow the sequences practiced by the Academy students even from afar.

The watered-down clone jutsu taught to the graduating class was useless to her, but the kawarimi and the henge especially opened up many, many delicious possibilities. Once she’d mastered the hengue, all she had to do was adopt the appearance of a genin and… voilá! She could go to any training ground she wanted and spy on even more people!

By the time she’d reached age six, Sakura had progressed satisfactorily in some areas, though she was not pleased at all with the restrictions that her parentage had placed before her. She had no one who could teach her how to handle a sword again, and no one who could teach her some jutsu that were not from the Academy starter pack.

Sakura was also getting more and more worried as the Academy matriculation date grew closer and closer and still her parents had not caved.

But she refused to let them choose her future for her. Being a shinobi was literally her life. It was what she excelled at and what she wanted to continue doing. And so, when her parents had still not caved two days before the enrollment date, she had to resort to drastic measures: she refused to eat. She still had to drink, of course, but a civilian could last up to a week without food and a ninja, depending on his chakra reserves, could double or even triple that time. So Sakura wasn’t too worried. If anything, the fasting was a good exercise in will-power and it would clear her stomach. Her parents, of course, didn’t see it that way.

They were so worried about her that they ended up caving.

Sakura wasn’t particularly fond of her chosen strategy or the near crisis she’d given her mother, but a shinobi had to use what tools were available to them, even if that tool was their mother’s love toward them. A part of her felt guilty, remembering what many had called Tobirama: emotionless, cold as ice, a psychopath without empathy.

It was true that, had Hashirama been in the same situation, he’d have likely manged to convince Kizashi and Mebuki through some other means. But Tobirama never had Hashirama’s charm. The only thing he had was his own tenacity; he would do whatever was needed.

And so, with scared and contrite parents following behind her, Sakura entered through the doors of the Academy for the first time in her life (in that life) and strode confidently toward the queue of waiting parents.

Finally. She was on the right track.

Crossing her arms in Tobirama’s telltale pose, she closed her eyes and concentrated on sensing the other people standing in line. Some parents were shinobi, though there were quite a few civilians as well. Sakura imagined that most of them would drop out or enroll the genin corps. As suspected, the civilian children had chakra reserves that were notably smaller than their clan counterparts, and, Sakura was pleased to see, her reserves were the largest of the lot. Good.

She felt eyes on her back and turned. Izuna Uchiha was standing behind her.

A bolt of fear and anger went through her as she glared at the boy. He blinked at her, looking startled by her cold gaze and retreating into the arms of the person accompanying her… an older Uchiha, who was glaring at her coldly.

Sakura narrowed her eyes, not liking the look he was giving her. He ought to be Kosuke’s age, and yet he had the air and the chakra reserves belonging to a chunin at the least. Tobirama at age nine probably hadn’t been that much stronger than him… who was this guy?

“Sakura-chan, staring is rude!” her mother chastised her. “And don’t scowl like that!”

Sakura scowled harder. For whatever reason, society seemed to frown upon girls scowling and acting moody even more than guys. Seriously. It was like everyone expected Sakura to be a bundle of joy, something which only annoyed her more.

She knew, however, that it wouldn’t really help her to defy societal customs any more than it had helped Tobirama, and had told herself that she would at least try acting more… girly.

Ugh. Keyword being try, of course.

“Next,” the bored secretary manning the counter said then, and Sakura stepped forward, back ramrod straight, her posture all Tobirama.

“I’m here to sign up,” she told the guy, all businesslike, before her parents could even get a word in edgewise.

The guy looked at her speculatively. “Clan?”

“We’re civilians,” her mother said, and the guy did a double-take. Right then, Sakura could feel the laser-like gaze that had been boring through the back of her skull intensify. She turned slightly and spotted the same Uchiha again, the Izuna look-alike’s older brother, most likely. He’d be the Madara in this scenario, Sakura thought foully, recalling Madara’s particular insistence in having her killed as one of his conditions for the peace treaty.

This Uchiha’s eyes were not hateful though, just alert. Otherwise, he looked strangely calm, his hand resting protectively on his brother’s head.

Hmmm…

He cocked his head to the side curiously, and Sakura scowled at him. She couldn’t help it, Uchiha ticked her off.

“Well, you’re all set then, Sakura-chan!” the guy manning the counter told her, prompting her to tune back in. She nodded at him politely, inspecting her enrollment papers. Her parents clearly wanted to leave, but Sakura stayed where she was, to their evident despair. Someone behind her on the queue tapped their foor annoyedly, but Sakura ignored all of it as she addressed the guy on the counter again.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice that there are no weapon supplements in my enrollment form. I understand that they are customary for civilians.”

She more than understood, she had made the rules, after all.

“I’m sorry?” the guy said, looking baffled. “There’s no such thing.”

“Yes there is,” Sakura told him bluntly. “Look it up or ask your superior if you don’t believe me.”

The guy stared at her as if she’d grown another head, but nonetheless pulled out a thick book (a book which Tobirama just so happened to know from back to cover, having written it) and started searching through it. And searching. And searching. She suppressed the urge to snap at him to check on chapter 12.

Finally, the man backing the counter found what she was talking about and did yet another double-take.

“Errr… I don’t think we have any form to petition for this,” he said lamely. Sakura sighed inwardly. “I believe the ‘additional clauses’ in the ordinary enrollment document should do the job, wouldn’t you say.

“Oh. Err, yeah, yeah you’re right kid.”

Of course she was. He seemed somewhat baffled by this, even as he filled out the form for her. When he was over, Sakura re-read everything, checking that everything was as it should be, before nodding at the man.

“What did you say your name was again?” the man asked, as she was about to walk away.

Sakura paused. She was tempted to use her other name, just to see how he’d react, but as always, reason won out. “Haruno Sakura. Was there any reason why you’re asking? Again?”

“Uh, no reason. Just… curious.”

Oh, if he knew the truth… curiosity would kill the cat. Sakura smirked inwardly. “Have a good day then.”

On her way out, she passed the Uchiha. He was looking at his brother with a fond expression, though Sakura knew that he’d likely heard every part of her exchange with the guy at the reception desk. Just as she was leaving, she heard someone else mutter about them: “Did you see, Ryousuke? Those two are the two children of the Uchiha’s main house… the heir, Itachi, and his younger brother, Sasuke… you’d do well to befriend him, you know?”

Sakura continued walking toward her parents, who were waiting for her impatiently at the door. So, his name was Uchiha Itachi, huh? Her instincts told her to keep an eye on him. He’d grow up to be a truly formidabble shinobi one day. And… he was already suspicious of her. History really did repeat itself, huh? Sakura resolved to up her training.

No matter what, she would not let the Uchiha ruin everything with their curse of hatred. She would protect the village, no matter at what cost.


	2. Age six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a lot of you asked me to, so here goes… :)

_An auburn-haired boy was standing in the middle of a dirt-covered patio, his hands curled into a sloppily-made handsign. He must’ve copied it somewhere, for it was incomplete. His worn clothes were soaked through and sweat was building on his brow. He was frowning at his hands like they had personally offended him, clearly aware that the handsign was wrong… Tobirama found his curiosity piqued despite himself._

_He had some time to kill until his next meeting, and so, he settled comfortably upon his perch on the shabby house’s rooftop ledge and watched the boy as he tried again and again to master a basic set of handsigns. It was almost nighttime and the sound of the crickets filled the balmy air, along with the boy’s panting. Tobirama had almost gotten lost in a meditative trance when a woman’s scratchy voice shook him out of it._

_“There you are, boy!”_

_The boy tensed._

_“What are you doing?” the woman pressed._

_The boy hid his hands in his trouser pockets, as though afraid they’d betray him. “Nothing.”_

_“Nothing, ey?” she growled. “Don’t lie to me! I want you to stop this stupidity at once. You’re of low birth. You can’t be a ninja.”_

_“What’s it to you, hag!” the boy snapped with vitriol._

_The old woman’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you raise your voice at me! You should be grateful I took you in! Reika’s heart was always too kind, to care about a little bastard like you. Now come!”_

_The boy lowered his head and trotted back into the shabby house after the enraged woman. Tobirama remained long after they had gone, staring at the spot where the boy had been training. After much time deep in thought, he left for his meeting._

  
  


_A half hour later found him surrounded by gossiping council members and clan heads. They were whispering about him more so than usual. “He’s in one of his moods today,” seemed to be the general consensus. The only one who actually bothered to broach the subject of ‘his mood’ with him was his anija:_

_“What’s gotten into you, Tobi?” Hashirama queried half-teasing, half-worried. “You’re scowling even more than usual today.”_

_Tobirama grunted and otherwise ignored his brother. He would find out soon enough._

_Once the meeting had commenced, Tobirama stood up and faced his fellow villagers._

_“I have a proposal to make.”_

* * *

  
  
Uchiha Itachi was perched upon a high branch on one of the trees surrounding the ninja Academy, watching as his little brother stood proudly in line along with the other new initiates. Sasuke was clearly trying hard not to fidget and succeeding only marginally at it. Itachi thought that was endearing.

“Heya! Dear cousin mine,” someone chirped, as another body materialized next to his own upon the tree branch.

“Shisui,” Itachi greeted with a smile.

His cousin grinned back at him. “It’s good to see you, Itachi. You’re a hard guy to catch these days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Shisui frowned, glancing pointedly at Itachi’s shoulder, where a brand new ANBU tattoo was concealed below his sleeve. 

“Just make sure you don’t get burned out,” he said after a drawn-out pause. Itachi nodded obligingly – he knew that his cousin didn’t approve of his being in ANBU – and turned back to stare at Sasuke.

“It’s fine, Shisui. I have proved my competence to the others.”

Shisui sighed. “I never called your competence into question, silly. That’s not what I’m worried about! Rather, you are _too_ competent. You’re still eleven, Itachi. You should be enjoying life still, not rendezvousing with death at every corner.”

Itachi’s lip quirked. “I see you’re as poetic as always.”

Shisui rolled his eyes. “You shouldn’t focus on the wrapping, but rather on the content of what I’m saying. Won’t you listen to what your poor cousin tells you, Itachi? I really am worried.”

Itachi shrugged. “This is no place to be discussing such things, Shisui.”

Indeed, many other parents had come to see their children’s first day at the Academy, more so due to the large number of clan heirs and heiresses in this year’s batch. Itachi and Shisui were far from the only ones perched upon a tree branch, overseeing the proceedings and stalking – cough, observing – their children and/or the other promising clan heirs, and so it was fairly possible that their conversation might be eavesdropped on.

Thankfully, this warning was enough for Shisui to drop the subject.

“Alright, alright,” he said instead. “Anyway. Who’d have thought that your lil bro would be old enough to start at the Academy already, huh? It feels like only yesterday that you were still coming here yourself, Itachi – or making shadow clones to keep up the ruse, at any rate.” He snickered bemusedly.

Itachi shot him a dirty look. “That was five years ago.”

“Aww, was it that long ago that we first met?” 

Sighing, Itachi turned away from his cousin, ignoring his usual theatrics, and let his eyes roam over the different children which had gathered in line before the hokage. Most of them looked bored out of their minds, though the most disciplined ones at least pretended to be listening to the man’s long-winded speech. At least his brother wasn’t pulling at another girl’s pigtail, the way that the Inuzuka boy was. Itachi huffed in bemusement when he saw the Yamanaka heiress staring at his little brother with a lovestruck expression. He was about to turn away when he spotted a tuft of pink hair – and promptly honed in on it. 

_Haruno Sakura._

She was standing in line rather toward the back of the group, straight-backed and serious, arms crossed, a scowl on her face. 

Itachi remembered her adopting that exact same pose back on the day he’d first seen her, when he’d enrolled his brother into the Academy. It alone – the stance appropriate for a serious businessman or a warrior, not a six-year-old – had already sparked his curiosity, but Sakura Haruno’s actual behavior had turned out to be even harder to forget her: a slip of a girl, pink-haired and petite, speaking commandingly to tell the poor chunin off for his incompetence. Her speech was mature and cultivated, using words Sasuke likely wouldn’t learn until he was much older, and her aura had radiated control and a large chakra pool. It was all very mysterious, considering that the girl was allegedly civilian. But what had rubbed Itachi wrong was the dirty look that Sakura Haruno had shot his brother upon landing eyes on him. He had already warned Sasuke to tread carefully around her, but he intended to keep an eye on the girl nevertheless.

“Who’re you looking at?” Shisui questioned. “Sasuke’s over there.”

Itachi shrugged and turned back toward Sasuke. 

He would keep his observations to himself for the time being. But one thing was for certain. Sakura Haruno had better not harm one hair on his brother’s head, or Itachi would take matters into his own hands.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_Should I tell him, or shouldn’t I?_

This was the one question circulating through Sakura’s head as she regarded her once-student, the sandaime hokage, whilst he delivered his initiation speech. 

As soon as she’d first seen him that morning, as soon as she’d realized that he was alive, Sakura had been overcome with happiness and hope. Happiness to learn that her dear pupil was not yet dead, and hope because she could finally tell someone the truth. No doubt, Saru would be able to use his sway as hokage in order to grant her access to her old research notes and any katana and jutsu training Sakura could ever want. Yes, she must tell him as soon as she could get him alone, she resolved at once. But then Saru actually opened his mouth… 

He went on and on about the will of fire and the ninja life and other philosophical queries that certainly sounded very complicated and existential but held no true value or interest for a bunch of six-year-olds, all the while putting on the airs of a wise master speaking to his helpless devotees. Did Tobirama sound like that when he lectured his students? Sakura was horrified at the mere idea, but she was certain that that was impossible. At least, she hoped it was. Arrogance and conceit were two of the traits Tobirama most despised, and he’d rather have eaten his hokage hat than act the part. And yet… why then was Sarutobi behaving like this? Sakura could scarcely believe it at first, but the longer his speech continued, the more she found that she did not recognize her erstwhile pupil. He wasn’t being pompous as such, but she didn’t like the airs of grandeur that he was putting on. No, she didn’t like them at all. He acted like he was giving the children some great gift by sharing his boundless wisdom and insight with them. Sakura found her scowl intensifying despite herself.

_Saru, what happened to you?_

She could clearly recall that Hashirama had never behaved like that, even during his later years. Unbeknownst to many, his jolly disposition had concealed a lifetime of insightful advice and uncharted depths. He was a great judge of character, had seen many painful things in his life and learned from them, had accomplished a dream that had seemed impossible, had forged peace and built an entire village, nay, created an entire country – but he had never tried to put on airs the way Saru was doing now. Hashirama had remained bright and humble till his passing day… unlike others.

  
Sakura narrowed her eyes at Hiruzen, disliking his attitude more and more with every passing minute of his never-ending speech. Her eyes fitted over to the man standing next to him on the podium, wondering who that could be. Half of his face was slathered in bandages and he was gripping a cane. There was something predatory about his aura, even though it appeared very calm and collected. Sakura narrowed her eyes, something about him jogging her memory… wait. That scar on his cheek… could it be… Danzo?

Imposible. He looked so different from the young man Tobirama had known. But the more Sakura thought about it, the more convinced she was. Danzo was alive too… 

He was standing next to Hiruzen, the way Tobirama had always wanted him to – for them to stand next to each other, as friends and not as foes. If they had learned to work together, then at least Tobirama had done one thing right… but could Sakura be sure that was the case? Hiruzen was so different from the Saru he remembered, and so was Danzo. What had happened? How had they changed?

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Once Saru’s speech was done, Sakura raised her hand like a flagpole. Her once student looked at her with surprise, likely taken aback by her boldness, and next to him, Danzo sneered at her.

Sakura ignored his expression of contempt, and faced Saru.

“I have a question about your speech, hokage-sama.”

The hokage nodded, looking bemused. “Alright. Ask away, little one.”  
 _Little one. Ugh!_ Sakura once more felt annoyed at his presumption, but crushed the sentiment before it could show on her face.

“You talked a lot about the greater good and about the sacrifices of a few to save many. But all of that sounds very abstract and complicated and I don’t understand. What is the will of fire?”

Saru stared at her. To someone who didn’t know him, he may have looked calm, but Sakura knew otherwise. Now… how would he answer?

“...the will of fire manifests differently in every person,” Saru said at last. “In the case of my sensei, for instance – yes, you may know him as the second, his face is on the mountain over there – he… he gave his life during the war in order to save the rest of us. He was committed to this village to the point where he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. Do you understand now?”

How rich. Sakura was getting more irked by the second. Somehow, the fact that he had used _her_ actions instead of answering the question by himself only irked her more.

“But what about you, hokage-sama?” she asked quietly. “What is the will of fire to you?”

There was a drawn-out silence and Sakura could see Saru’s eyes widen and his fingers clench just a fraction, and suddenly, she knew: he had forgotten. 

But it wasn’t Saru who answered this time. Danzo stepped forward, fixing Sakura with an ice cold glare.

“You should have more respect, girl. The second’s sacrifice is nothing to be overlooked or ignored. He is the epitome of the will of fire and his actions speak for themselves. Any other questions?”

No one spoke. 

Danzo nodded and returned to his place next to Saru. Sakura resisted the urge to glare at them. They had both failed her test. 

The true carrier of the will of fire had always been and would always be Hashirama. She could see now that neither knew what it truly meant to be a shinobi of the leaf. Sakura frowned, ignoring Danzo’s persistent glare. No, she would not reveal herself to either of them. Perhaps later, when she was stronger and older, she’d beat some sense into them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’d you think? Who is the boy? Did you like the peak into tobiramas life? And what will Itachi do?


	3. The Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama, creator of the Academy: "I hate this place."

_He sought the boy out a month later, when everything was ready. Just like the last time, Tobirama found him standing in that dirty patio at dusk, panting and sweaty, engrossed in his struggle to master a hand sign sequence he must’ve copied somewhere. After some silent observation, Tobirama recognized it as an attempt at the substitution technique. But the boy’s handsign positions were off, something which was aggravated by the welts in his hands. Tobirama wondered at them. He had seen those sorts of welts at the forgery. Was the boy to become a blacksmith?_

_He decided that it should ultimately be the boy’s decision._

_Without making any noise, Tobirama dropped down, letting himself land behind the kid._

_The boy didn’t pick up on his presence immediately, but he soon spotted Tobirama’s shadow on the ground and turned around with a start. Not bad._

_If he was intimidated or surprised, the boy didn’t let on. But his brows were drawn in calculation, and his eyes had cast around the patio searchingly – and glued themselves to a stick that could serve as a weapon in a pinch. Tobirama approved. He had the right instincts._

_“Who are you? And what do you want?” the little blacksmith asked. He was trying to be intimidating, Tobirama could tell. Unfazed, he ignored the question and took the boys hands, examining them more closely._

_“Your hands are those of a blacksmith apprentice, and yet they were curled into a handsign just now. Why?”_

_The boy yanked his hands free and took a few steps back. Tobirama regarded him calmly, as the boy stared back at him with impossibly wide eyes._

_“I… would like to be a shinobi,” he revealed after a long pause._

_Tobirama mustered him critically. His shoulders were hunched and very tense, as though he was expecting to be mocked for his words._

_“Why?” Tobirama questioned again._

_The boy looked baffled. “What’s it to you? I just do.”_

_Tobirama pondered his words for a moment, though he had already settled on a course of action long before coming here. However, he had to ask. “The shinobi’s life is not an easy one, little blacksmith. Are you certain you want that?”_

_The boy was now gaping at him. “Y-yes.”_

_“Then come to the clearing south of the Naka river next monday. There will be a new building there. You can sign up to become a ninja there.”_

_“But that’s impossible! You have to be from a clan for that.”_

_Tobirama allowed himself to smile the tiniest bit. “Not any longer. As of five days ago, the council of Konoha has agreed to found the Ninja Academy, available to all who choose to tread the path of the shinobi.”_

_The boy looked thunderstruck. “You… do you mean that?”_

_“I do.”_

_“But then… how much do I have to pay? I don’t have nothin’ to my name. I don’t have weapons, I don’t–”_

_Tobirama had already considered this, of course._

_“Ask for the civilian supplementation program. Money will not be the issue here. But you will have to work harder than anyone else if you really want this.”_

_The boy nodded, his eyes a little misty. “I – I will.”_

_Pleased, Tobirama gave him a curt nod. He was about to leave when he remembered the other thing he’d been meaning to do. “The handsigns for the kawarimi are like this,” he said, demonstrating them slowly, once, then again. “You must remember to channel your chakra into the target you wish to substitute with, otherwise it won’t work.”_

_The boy stared at him as though he’d hung the stars in the sky. If this was his expression now, Tobirama was looking forward to the face he’d make once he met his anija! Grinning, he ruffled the kid’s tousled hair and nodded gruffly._

_“Good luck, little blacksmith.”_

_That said, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, as silent and quick as when he had come._

* * *

As you can imagine, Sakura had an absolute blast getting to know all the other six-year-olds in her class during her first day of lessons.

As you can also imagine, the previous statement was a lie. Sakura did not enjoy being surrounded by six-year-olds. Things might have been slightly more bearable for her if she’d been placed in the same class as the other clan kids (and heirs), but as it was, she was stuck in a class full of civilians.

Honestly, she was disappointed in herself for not seeing this coming.

She knew perfectly well that, despite Tobirama’s ideal of the Academy as an institution where _both_ clan children _and_ civilians could be trained as shinobi to their fullest potential, the truth of the matter had been slightly different. During the negotiations for the project, the clan heads had insisted that they wanted their precious clan kids nowhere near any civilians and their uncouth, unsubtle ways, threatening to completely boycott the project otherwise.

His brother, Hashirama, hadn’t been any help in this case either. He may have been a man capable of moving mountains for his ideology, but this had been one of their rare cases since Konoha’s founding where he and Tobirama had completely disagreed. It wasn’t that Hashirama thought that civilians weren’t ‘worthy’ of becoming shinobi, as the other clan heads did, but he had been of the opinion that, the more children stayed away from the path of the ninja, the better. Civilians had no familial obligation to become shinobi, so, Hashirama had said, it was best for them if they stayed out of the life entirely.

Tobirama had felt that that reasoning was valid, but he couldn’t help but remember that little black smith who had been trying to master a jutsu all on his own without that old woman noticing, without any help at all, no one to tell him how to do it right… and yet still he had tried so hard. He thought back to his youth, and how what had most irked and angered him of the war was the lack of freedom – that he was never given a choice, any choice. His father had made all the decissions and Tobirama had grit his teeth and let him, because that had been the only way. But now he had Konoha: the village, his brother had said, which had been founded _for_ the children – so that they shouldn’t have to fight, could have a childhood, live a fulfilling life. He fully agreed with those sentiments, but… if you asked Tobirama, freedom of choice was even more important. Freedom should be everything.

At least these children, the children of Konoha, should be given a choice. If the civilians wanted to become shinobi, then they should get an equal chance as the clan kids to do so. They should get the same opportunities as anyone else. Not to mention, he’d mentally added, Konoha _was_ a ninja village. The more ninja they had, the better.

He and his brother had argued on the matter for the better part of a month. Tobirama, having realized that ‘civilians becoming ninja’ was not a winning argument, had spoken instead in favor of the Academy as a whole, of how such an institution would help to solidify inter-clan bonds and lay the foundation for Konoha’s future stability. His tactic had worked and Hashirama, while not completely agreeing with the civilian admission part, had found the general idea of a ‘ninja Academy’ delightful. He had helped with the negotiations as much as he could, barring the civilian part.

Of course, this was what Tobirama had been counting on. After getting the Academy proposal approved, he’d been planning to slowly ease the clan heads into the idea of their children coexisting with civilian kids, to the point where, after a decade or so, the strictly separated classes system they’d agreed on would ease up and civilians could be trained to the standards of clan children (as it was, they were getting worse instructors, worse equipment, worse everything). However, Tobirama had been well aware that he’d have to drag the clan heads kicking and screaming every inch of the way to his goal – and he’d have to be subtle about it. To summarize: the concession had been a defeat, yes, but he’d had no intention to leave it at that. Tobirama could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be, and he was planning to win this one way or another. Patience was key.

His outlook had proved successful when, over the years, he had managed to sneakily proceeded with his plan, slowly finagling things so more and more civilians got into the shinobi classes (making sure to pick the more talented and motivated ones first, of course), and watching the situation unfold. (He might have also offered some tutoring on the side to make sure the kids could find their feet, but no one needed to know that).

The extra work had born its fruit, as slowly, the collective derision for civilian born ninja lessened. An immigrant orphan boy by the name of Minato, for example, had made a name for himself even among the ninja children soon enough – and he was promising to only be the first in many… not much time afterward, Tobirama had died, and he had been unable to see his plan through till the end. He had, however, held high hopes.

…but instead of finding a totally segregation-free Academy, as Sakura had been hoping to, she was faced with completely separate classes for civilians and clan kids, the latter of which had a much higher level than the other. It was way worse than what she'd left behind. Once again: her life’s work had been thrown down the drain.

(It would’ve been funnier had Tobirama not also designed Konoha’s advanced plumbing system back in the day.)

At any rate, the way things were currently, Sakura was forced to conclude that if she wanted to be on the same class as the clan kid, she’d have to wait until enough of her civilian peers dropped out to warrant having only one class – which, judging by the subpar education they were getting, might not be that long. Had she really wanted to make it to the clan kids’ class that badly, she supposed she could try play the ‘once-in a generation prodigy’ card, but the idea was quickly dismissed: if Tobirama’s memories had taught her anything, then that was not to stand out unless the situation called for it. The nails that stick out get struck down the first, after all, and Sakura had no desire to be struck down. Thus, she was forced to swallow her numerous complaints and instead played at being a good little civilian girl trying to find her stride in the big, bad ninja academy. Well – more or less.

“What’s that you got there, Sakura-chan?”

Sakura ignored the civilian boy sidling up to her in favor of hiding the explosion tag she’d been taking apart beneath her shirt.

“Just a drawing, Kotaro-kun,” she supplied smoothly.

“Oh. Well you’re not very good at drawing,” Kotaro noted.

Sakura nodded along sagely. “No, which is why I’m practicing.”

Kotaro’s nose scrunched up, not seeming very convinced. “Yeah, but your drawing didn’t look like anything I know.”

 _You’re a six-year-old. You don’t know anything_ _worth drawing_ _,_ was what Sakura wanted to say. “Ah, I was going for a replica of the shodaime’s statue,” is what she actually said instead. That was what children drew, right? Monuments?

“But those look like doodles!”

Sakura told herself not to roll her eyes.

“Hashirama’s ugly mug was greatly embellished, trust me.”

“What?” Kotaro squawked. “What’s that suppos’d to be? Embe – lished?”

“It means made better looking. Like if you’re ugly and use make-up to pretend you’re not,” Sakura supplied drolly.

Kotaro paused. “AH! You shoulda said that earlier!”

“Terribly sorry.”

“But wait. Who’s Hashirama?”

Sakura sighed. Was she really having this conversation?

“Hashirama Senju. AKA the Shodaime hokage. They’re the same person.”

Kotaro’s mouth parted. “Ooo-oh. I knew that already!”

“Right. Of course you did.”

Kotaro nodded confidently, then paused.

“Wait – did you just call the shodaime hokage UGLY?!”

Some distant part of her wondered what her anija would say if he could see her right then. Watching Kotaro scowl at her with a kicked-puppy look on his face, Sakura once more was faced with the fact that her social skills were rather lacking. You’d think that having the memories of history’s best tactician and father of jutsu creation would be enough to prepare her for a bunch of six-year-olds… but it wasn’t.

This whole social interaction thing was definitely less straight forward than Tobirama’s memories made it out to be. For example: after the creation of Konoha, children had flocked to Tobirama like bees to honey. Yes, alright, maybe that had had something to do with the fact that his brother sent any and all children his way any chance he got. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d created the Academy and had dropped in regularly to make sure everything was in order, setting any ill-behaving teachers to rights. Maybe (though he’d denied it till his dying day) there was a kernel of truth to Hashirama’s teasing claims that the village kids had him totally whipped and they knew it – one of his brother’s favorite sing-songed declarations, unfortunately – but in any case, six-year-olds were supposed to be easier to deal with than this! They were supposed to be these chubby-faced little souls that would approach him with puppy-eyed miens asking for tips on their jutsu, or to touch his fur coat, and in the case of the bolder ones, to use him as a human jungle-gym. They were not supposed to be this annoyingly vexing to deal with!

Obviously being Tobirama had factored more heavily into their behavior than Sakura had suspected, because as herself, kids never shyly approached her asking about jutsu or fur coats. All she'd say on the matter was that kids weren't the cute little cinammon rolls she remembered at all: nosy, whiny, disrespectful and _loud_ – Sakura had no clue why Tobirama had ever – _ever_ – liked brats any shape or form. They were so annoying!

Not that she wasn’t a six-year-old herself, but she’d never stoop to such lowly, uncouth flailing as her classmates. Unfortunately, there was little she could say or do on the matter, which admittedly was even more aggravating. Alas, Sakura was thereby doomed to spending her first day of classes surrounded by the flailing, salivating, mucus-throwing creatures known to mankind as ‘six-year-olds’.

For the umpteenth time that morning, she sighed. It was going to be a long six years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter was a bit short, but honestly, this work isn't really something I'm taking very seriously, so expect whimsical updates and chapters of varying lenghths. Hope you like it :)

**Author's Note:**

> So? What did you think? Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll continue this, but if a lot of you guys like the idea, I just might ;)


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